All 60 of us were given index cards with jokes to present. Each of us took the dead mic and told a joke. Wendy wanted us to get a laugh, to know what that felt like. No critique … so generous. The group included such evolved comedy students that they recognized different joke writers! My comedic background was teaching branding to hostile sales officers, forced to sit through two days of training at Indymac Bank.
To ease the tension, I did the classic comic warm-up — jokes based on names or where people came in from. Wendy gave each of her students a charm as we left class. Mine is a silver key. I bolted to the bathroom, and as I returned, Wendy and Teri Rizvi saw me in the hallway. Though performing a stand-up gig had been on my bucket list since , I was so terrified. I never even slightly pursued it. I told the breast biopsy story. They laughed, right there in the hallway. Acute panic overwhelmed me.
I sort of practiced in my room before dinner, but did it work? I met a fabulous stand-up. Sleep eluded me. Still there. Lunch was irrelevant because I was queasy from nerves. Time for the next session. I scribbled frantically. I am the protagonist in my non-fiction, thankfully distracted and panic-free for 75 minutes.
Oh, NO!!! I understood down to my DNA and each double helix. Other people auditioned and were chosen. I just went to the bathroom and got caught. Bad bladder timing. At dinner, I met James, a psychologist. I desperately wanted a session but thought it rude to ask. Not smart. The brilliant Alan Zwiebel, the empathic genius who signed his book to me with kind words and love, introduced Laraine Newman. The SNL icon shared her story of acting, writing and life, with equal parts hilarity and struggle.
We were with her and wanted more. After she read two side-splitting pieces — farting in front of Prince and wetting herself on a first date — the room erupted with love and adulation. The time arrived. The 20 of us, all chatting with nervous energy, gathered for a photo with Wendy and emcee Leighann Lord.
